Transcendent Beauty
by ColonelPony
Summary: There are two things Deidara believes without any doubt: He is not beautiful. He is in love. There is only one thing Sasori knows with absolute certainty: Everything is dull in comparison to Deidara. -SasoDei/boyslove, sexual themes, swearing, angst, fluff, all that good stuff. Oh, and Hidan's in there somewhere.
1. Beauty is the Beast

Chapter One:

Beauty is the Beast

Drip...Drip...Drip...Drip-

Water continues to dribble indiscriminately from the slightly rusty faucet as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, perpetually adding to my mounting irritation.

I huff out a sigh, and the image in the mirror parts its lips in a silent mimicry. It shadows each movement as my right hand wanders idly to long, golden locks wilting haphazardly over my shoulder. It was dull, in my opinion. Not ugly... just plain, and dreadfully long.

I used to love my hair. I once thought it was my best physical feature.

But he...Sasori...

"_When are you going to cut off that ridiculously long mop on your head you call hair? It only makes you come off as even more of a brat."_

I take a deep breath and look up—away from my hair—meeting the gaze of drab, lifeless, blue-gray eyes.

Unlike my hair, I've always hated my eyes. They're my father's eyes. The eyes of a cold, heartless-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

My thoughts are disrupted by a harsh succession of knocks, followed by a familiarly gruff voice.

"Deidara, get your transvestite ass outta the bathroom already! I gotta fucking take a piss!"

Within an instant, the fire in my eyes returns and I let out a low growl. "Just a minute, Hidan!" I shout back in a mock sing-song voice. I flush the toilet and take one last glance toward the mirror before turning to the door and yanking it open. I was, of course, met with the (somehow always cocky) scowl of an impatient Jashinist. Meeting his frown with my own cheeky smile I purr, "I thought patience was a virtue, un, even in your twisted religion." His eyebrow twitches visibly and he opens his mouth, no doubt preparing a small tirade for my blatant jab at aforementioned (incredibly sadomasochistic) religion, so I just stick out my bottom lip a little and widen my (ugly) blue eyes. Immediately, the zealot's mouth slips shut once more, something other than annoyance hazing its way into his magenta eyes.

I take the opportunity without hesitation.

"Hidan, you know I don't like being called a transvestite..." My sickeningly sweet voice sounds disgusting even to me, but it works on my idiot of a best friend. He mumbles something unintelligible and shoves past me into the now vacant bathroom.

I feel a triumphant grin spread across my face when I hear the door slam, directly followed by something along the lines of, "...lucky I like blondes so much..."

Eventually my feet begin carrying me in the direction of my room, though my mind wanders along a different path completely.

I've known of Hidan's little crush on me for years, and had I cared about anyone's opinion but Sasori-no-Danna's, I may even have felt guilty for using it to my advantage. That being said, he didn't really stand much of a chance with me to begin with.

Sure, there was once a time when I might have fallen helplessly for any man who gave me a second glance—a time when I could still feel my beating heart. A time when I could still _feel _anything. It may as well just have been a dream. I can't remember what happiness feels like, or pain for that matter.

Maybe that's why I'm so hopelessly hooked on him.

I blink, shaking myself out of the daze I'd allowed to envelope me. My hand clenches into a fist and rises to the door before me automatically. We may share a room, but Sasori is a firm believer in privacy—not that I can see a logical reason for it. Sasori is not kind to me, nor does he respect my views on art. In fact, an overwhelming majority of the time he is a downright jerk. But if there's anything we do have between us, it is trust. We've made our loyalty to each other as partners known on numerous occasions, no shortage of them somehow involving dire circumstances and explosions.

Lately, however, he's added an element of secrecy to our fragile excuse of a relationship. This started only a few months ago, which happens to be when I finally realized my love for him. Once I'd noticed the minute, yet ostensible (in my eyes), decrease in directness and increase in the thickness of those carefully constructed walls between us I felt so... Well, I _felt_. I wasn't sure what to call it at first; all I knew was that it was definitely not pleasant.

"Are you going to just stand in the hallway all day, Brat?" A velvety smooth voice sounds from the other side of the door. Were I not an S-ranked ninja I might have jumped.

Making sure my dull fringe properly covers my left eye, I turn the knob and push quietly into the room, making a beeline for my lumpy, messy bed.

"Morning, Danna." I force a smile, finally turning to face him.

He, predictably, was not looking at me. Instead his chocolate brown eyes were trained on the wooden limb of a currently dismembered puppet. My smile falters when I get no response, and disappears completely when I realize his attention is entirely focused on that damned piece of wood in front of him.

I fall gracelessly backward onto my bed with a yawn, and the old mattress squeaks in protest. Slipping easily into our customary routine, I opt to pester the redhead until I can get those beautiful eyes to focus on me instead.

"Danna, un."

The mildly abrasive sound of sandpaper on uneven lumber was my only answer.

"Danna…." I whine this time.

Still no vocal response, but I saw his left brow twitch vaguely in irritation. Which clearly meant I was getting somewhere with this.

Thus, every minute or so, I repeat variations of his name in that same whiny tone. For the record, I have about fifty times more patience than Sasori. And though that isn't actually saying much, it's plenty enough to ensure my eventual victory in this little battle of wills. As expected, about five minutes later I hear the distinctive clank of a heavy puppet appendage being laid carefully across the cheap (courtesy of Kakuzu) metal of our shared desk. My right eye slips open to peak in his direction, and is graced with the sight of muddy brown eyes, pale skin, and crimson hair. Though his face, as per usual, remains impassive.

"Brat..." He begins in that threatening (sexy), deep voice he tends to use when annoyed. I lean up onto my elbows and quirk a pale blond brow, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately, he knows me all too well.

"Don't give me that look. How many times have I told you _not to bother me while I'm working?_"

Ignoring the first part, I sit upright completely and tilt my head to the side. "Hmm... I vaguely recall you mentioning something like that, un... perhaps..."

In actuality my brain is mostly void of any useful thought process. I can feel _it _again. My heart, beating. No—pounding, because he is looking at me. For a short moment I comprehend how utterly pathetic I am, but the thought dissolves when he opens that lovely mouth again.

"I am entirely aware that _you _are entirely aware what I'm talking about."

With a tight voice he adds, "My patience is wearing thin with you, Deidara."

That last part catches my attention and I blink, unsure of whether I should be extremely worried or extremely elated. In fact, I'm not even sure I heard him right at all. Sasori has not said my name since the beginning of this whole "privacy" thing. Come to think of it... he's not said my name _once _since I joined the Akatsuki.

I've always been "the Brat."

Though all this flashes through my mind in only the span of a few seconds, all that comes out of my mouth is, "Huh?"

Afterword, there is a brief moment of wariness on my part. The redhead looks as though he is about to act upon either one of two extremities: stand and scold me, or…or kiss me. What? I physically shake my head at the absurdity of such a notion, and to my astonishment he does neither.

Suddenly I am infuriated. I recognize the bitter fire immediately.

I know it is inexplicable, unreasonable, and utterly pointless. But it is new, and bright, and I can _feel _the wicked, angry heat building within me. Needless to say, I am ill-equipped to handle it.

While Sasori has taken this time to go back to work on his damned puppet, seeming to forget of me completely, the rage has boiled to an extreme and bubbled to the brim of my heart. I stand abruptly, wordlessly. He does not react, which is fine because a second later I slam my open palms on the cold, hard desk he works upon. Sasori actually seems startled by this, but I ignore it.

I am not myself. I am not Deidara, the Brat. I am not Deidara, the incredible artist. I am not even Deidara, the hopelessly-in-love, angst-ridden rogue ninja. No, I am possessed by the beast that has been lying dormant within my pitiful heart since I was twelve, and it has fangs and claws and it is so hideous that I subconsciously get the urge to vomit; this rage is so preposterously overpowering, so ridiculously pure and beautiful that for a moment in my insanity-stricken mind I am reminded of an explosion—of my art.

My own voice startles me when it murmurs in a low, deathly calm manner, "What, _Danna_, am I not even worth your insults anymore?"

He says nothing, only stares back at me with slightly wide eyes. My muddled brain never toys with the idea that maybe he is too startled by the sudden change in temperament to respond. Instead, his silence further fuels my anger.

"Don't you fucking ignore me anymore, you selfish ass!" I growl, leaning closer to him as I speak.

He makes a visible effort to control every feature on his face so as not to betray any emotion or thought—God forbid—and states simply, "Brat, calm down."

Unfortunately for him that was the wrong thing to say; seriously, it was as far as possible from anything that would have been acceptable at the moment.

My vision goes white, and then black, and then I open my eyes to find that my hands are tightly clutched on the collar of his cloak, and he looks much less composed than before. This almost seems strange to me, because he is Sasori, and he is _always _composed.

I must have had a questioning look on my face, because his hand twitches as if to move, though he thinks better of it and instead whispers,

"You're crying, Brat."

The tone he uses only serves to baffle me further, because there is some kind of emotion behind it, and that makes absolutely no sense. He is a puppet, after all. He may be my Danna but he has never liked me. To him, we are merely partners in crime.

It takes me a minute in my distraught state to actually grasp the words he'd spoken.

My right hand is off his collar and at my cheek in a flash, and sure enough the flesh there is wet. It is as if a switch is flicked, and I am astonished. My Danna watches me carefully as I stumble backward, away from him, my eyes glued to the wetness on my hand all the while.


	2. Oh, How I Yearn

Chapter Two:

Oh, How I Yearn

I groan in annoyance before even opening my eyes for the first time when I wake up this morning. Glancing to my left, I notice that my partner's bed is empty. It's likely that he has already locked himself in the bathroom down the hall, and knowing Deidara, it could be a while before I see him again.

I force my stiff, mostly-wooden body into a sitting position and stretch with a yawn. Leader hasn't assigned Deidara and me a mission lately, which is fine because I have work to do. A quick glance at the organized chaos piled atop the cheap desk between our beds confirms just how much toil I have left on my newest puppet. Despite this, my mind begins to wander.

In truth, my mind seems to have been doing a lot of wandering lately, and it usually ends on the same note—or rather, the same person.

My eyelids slip closed as an image of gold hazes before them. My hands yearn to run through those long, beautiful blond locks... But as lovely as his hair may be, the rest of him is just as gorgeous. Those ice-blue eyes filled with fire and emotion—I could get lost in them forever, and I would be perfectly content doing so.

Soon, however, my thoughts turn to dirtier imaginings...such as lightly tanned skin encompassing a lithe, perfectly toned body.

A slim waist and smooth chest with those little pale-pink buds on each defined pectoral muscle.

I remember the few times I've seen him fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped loosely over his sexy, somewhat feminine hips and water droplets clinging stubbornly to every inch of visible skin. And even then he manages to be adorable, with that pretty blond hair sticking to his forehead, neck, and cheeks, cascading like a golden river down his back...

I open my eyes upon realizing that I have a slight problem, and curse myself for getting so carried away.

Fortunately, I am fairly certain that Deidara won't be back for another ten-to-fifteen minutes, so I slip my hand beneath the sheets and into my boxers to wrap around my erection. A small hiss escapes me once I begin stroking at a steady pace, my mind once more indulging itself with fantasies of that blond marvel. My cock throbs dully; oh how I want him underneath me, moaning my name, writhing in pleasure. I squeeze my lids closed once more and pump myself a bit faster, already feeling that heated coil deep within me.

"God, Deidara..."

My thumb slides over my slit lightly and I pretend that it is Deidara touching me so intimately. A few strokes later and I grunt, staining the front of my boxers with my funk.

Approximately four minutes later I am cleaned, fully clothed, and seated before my work desk. I can sense Deidara's presence nearby, so I pick up the closest tool—a wood sander—and attempt to appear busy.

I raise a brow when several moments pass without a single disturbance or sound. He is clearly just outside the door—his chakra presence is conspicuous and unguarded. Acting upon the assumption that the blond is merely respecting our new "privacy" rule (can't have him walking in on me as I jack off and moan his name), I speak.

"Are you going to just stand in the hallway all day, Brat?"

Finally the knob turns and the door is pushed aside, revealing a perfectly put-together blond artist, an off smile gracing his features.

"Morning, Danna."

My heart flutters when his sweet voice chimes in my ears and he uses that title he's given me. I keep quiet, for fear of sounding idiotic, and run the sandpaper along rough wood. Though my eyes remain trained on the dull (everything is dull in comparison to Deidara) piece of puppetry I can hear his old bed squeak as he plops onto it.

Barely thirty seconds pass before he disrupts the quiet once more.

"Danna, un."

Repressing a smile (oh how I adore that cute little speech impediment), I press a bit harder on the wooden limb with the scratchy material.

Now that he is here, mere feet from me, my eyes ache for the sight of his stunning beauty.

The next time he opens his mouth, his voice is laced with a pout-ridden whine.

"Danna…."

Both my left eyebrow and my member twitch simultaneously, and I suck a deep breath through my nose. I have a small internal debate as to whether I should give in and look at him, or let that sinfully sweet voice of his continue to utter my name.

Eventually I settle upon the latter.

As expected, every so often he whines out my name (or something similar) in an attempt to gain my attention. Soon I can stand it no longer—I simply _must_ look at him—and I carefully lay whichever tool I had grabbed randomly, some time ago, onto the desk.

When I finally, _finally_, turn my gaze toward him I see that he has leaned back on his bed in a relaxed fashion, eyes closed restfully. I take this moment to check myself, making sure every possible emotion is hidden.

One of his lids peaks open lazily, and though I know my face is neutral as ever I am worried when I feel my heart stutter. God, those _eyes_.

"Brat..." I manage, hoping my voice does not sound as love-struck and awed as I feel when staring into his brilliant blue orb.

He simply arches one of those thin, pale brows of his in mock ignorance and I suppress a smile. Might as well have a little fun with him.

"Don't give me that look. How many times have I told you not to bother me while I'm working?"

He sits up at hearing this, undoubtedly indignant, and I let a smirk cross my lips.

He plays along.

"Hmm... I vaguely recall you mentioning something like that, un... perhaps..."

Potential argument or not, I am simply glad his full attention is on me; I press on.

"I am entirely aware that _you _are entirely aware what I'm talking about."

With a bit of effort (and for good measure) I add, "My patience is wearing thin with you, Deidara."

Can't let him go thinking I've gained some patience or anything. He would be too suspicious.

I do not recognize my mistake until hearing the dumbfounded "Huh?" from Deidara.

Well, shit. Why did I have to go and say his actual name? That is definitely not something the Sasori he (thinks) he knows would do. Now I've gone and done it, and my mind is all fucked up for a minute and I have the outrageously strong urge _ravish _him, willing or not, on that lumpy old mattress. Because, in my brief moment of insanity, I figure why the Hell not?

With another great amount of effort I manage to force that urge deep down into the recesses of my heart. I turn away from my confused fellow artist, knowing that if I remained staring into those wonderfully enrapturing eyes I would possibly molest the poor boy to the point which a new mattress were required, and God knows what Kakuzu would have to say to that.

Evidently I am so concentrated on trying to slow the rapid hammering of my heart (and stifling the accompanying lecherous urges) that I do not notice Deidara has stood until he is right next to me. Actually, it takes the slamming of open palms on hard metal to startle me out of my entrancement.

I look up at the teen and notice something unsettling in his fiery blue eyes—something that does not quite belong on such gracefully gorgeous features.

Rage—

Pure, unadulterated anger.

His voice is astonishingly bitter and filled with contempt when he speaks,

"What, _Danna_, am I not even worth your insults anymore?"

I cannot stop my eyes from widening in wonderment. Where in the world had that come from? Surely he did not think I truly disliked him. How many times have I come to his aid in the thick of battle? Doesn't he realize that I've opened up to him more than anyone else ever in my life?

Doesn't he know how much I love him?

What a stupid question, Sasori! How could he know that when you're always—

"Don't you fucking ignore me anymore, you selfish ass!"

Right. Now is not really the time for such musings.

With practiced ease, I slip on my mask of indifference.

I am worried.

Afraid, even.

Not for myself, but for this boy. For his sanity. I have to somehow placate him, and then we can talk.

"Brat, calm down."

In my defense, this whole being in love thing is new to me. I've never been good with emotions.

Immediately I feel (and see) a change within the blond, a flash of something frighteningly familiar (yet foreign when directed at me). Clearly that was not what he wanted to hear at the moment.

I know he is going to move even before he does, but I do not attempt to stop it. There are tears in his eyes. My heart clenches painfully at the sight and I almost reach up to brush them away with my thumb. But I don't. He looks confused, and I realize there must be some sort of emotion on my face but I really don't care right now. I can practically feel the hurt, the loneliness and the yearning, all the suppressed emotion he must have kept buried ever since joining the Akatsuki, and I wonder with a sharp pang of guilt how I never noticed any of it before.

Unsure of what else to do, I finally answer the silent question in his eyes with a simple, "You're crying, Brat."

Seconds later my cloak's collar is released and he is stumbling backward, away from me. His right hand comes to touch hesitantly at his wet cheek and he seems astonished to witness for himself that I've spoken the truth.

As quickly as it had come, the rage is gone. Suddenly he is my Deidara again, only more vulnerable, more broken than I have ever seen him. I'm just about to stand—to embrace him, comfort him, anything to erase that horrid look of anguish from his face—when he turns away.

He says, "Don't follow me."

He walks out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

I do not move.

I do not blink.

I do not even breathe.

The way he'd spoken those words before he left... It echoed in my subconscious.

"_Don't follow me."_

The voice was calm; empty.

But the words...the words were not empty.

And I suddenly knew what I had missed beneath them:

"_Goodbye."_


	3. If Only One

As I stare skyward my face is pelted by restless drops of water. A sporadic _pitter-patter _sounds all throughout the forest and thrums unsteady as my heart beat.

I am not crying.

It shows no signs of letting up any time soon, but I don't care. I am already soaked to the bone, and with each cascading drop I can feel the cracks in my heart widen. A violent tremor rakes through my body and I fall to my knees, gaze ever-lingering on the dreadful sky.

My Danna does not love me.

How could he? _I _don't even love me.

My hand subconsciously slithers into my weapons pouch and pulls out a kunai.

Even so—even with all my anger toward Danna, and with all my self-loathing—how could I be so cruel to him? To the only man I've ever truly respected?

To the only person I've ever loved?

Even if it were possible I would not deserve his love. In fact, there is little in this life I actually deserve. Maybe that is why I'm so crooked. It's why I'm so careless when it comes to my own safety.

It's why I continue to hide from everyone around me.

Because all I am, really, is that same scared little boy I was eight years ago. Still stupid, still unwanted, still ugly.

My fingers idly trace the sharp edges of the kunai.

I wonder—how many times has my selfishness also endangered Sasori-no-Danna?

I've got to stop.

This has got to _stop._

It doesn't matter if he hates me. It doesn't matter if I hate me. I can't go on like this any longer.

I catch the dull glint of the kunai from the corner of my eye and raise it slowly.

Nothing will change.

Maybe I can fix things. Maybe I can make him love me… if only I weren't _me _anymore.

I can do this.

I raise the kunai level with my neck.

If I can just take some of the ugliness away….

I close my eyes.

After all, it's what Sasori has wanted all along.

Before I can change my mind, I grip the mane at the base of my neck and make the cut.

.

.

.

My eyes open in time to see dull golden locks falling capriciously to the ground around me, and I let out a breath of relief.

"There; it's done."

A mirthless smile climbs upon my lips unbidden as I realize the rain beginning to taper off. The kunai falls limply from my hand.

"Deidara?"

I jump up, startled, and my head snaps around to find the source of the voice.

"D-Danna… what are you…?"

I can feel my eyebrows knitting in confusion, which must be plain as day to him. By now the rain has all but stopped. Slowly—cautiously (as if I am a wild animal and he is afraid I will either run or charge at any given moment)—the puppeteer makes his way toward me.

Without meaning to I stare, awe-stricken by the way the resurfacing sun reflects off the wet grass and onto his gorgeous face.

When he is a meager few feet away he stops. My eyes meet his as he says, "I was worried after that fit of yours…. Brat, what have you done to your hair?" With this Sasori crosses his arms expectantly, though his eyes are softer and more patient than I have ever seen them.

Subconsciously my hands dart to where my long tresses were mere moments ago, only to grasp at empty air. "It's… I cut it off, un."

For some reason I feel ashamed of this, and my stare travels downward. "I figured you would appreciate it, anyway. You were always telling me to get rid of it."

A deep sigh echoes between us and I glance up, somewhat taken aback by his downtrodden mood all of a sudden.

"You stupid brat. Why would you decide to listen to me now of all times? I'm always telling you to do things. Why do you choose to listen to this one_?_"

Though still confused, I find it within myself to harden my eyes and look directly into his. "Don't give me that, Danna." My fists clench at my sides. "I've always hated it, same as you. I don't know why I didn't get rid of it sooner, un."

"That's right. This is my fault."

"What? But- That's not what I—"

"Hush, Brat."

I am about to spit an indignant retort, but then he is there right in my space, and his hands are cupping my cheeks, and I—I am getting dizzy just from our proximity—Is this really happening?

"It was never what you assumed. You hair was—is—beautiful. _You _are beautiful. It's just—there were times when I could hardly contain myself around you."

My heart hammers a million miles a minute and I can think of no coherent response except, "What?"

I hear his breathy chuckle, but all I can see at that moment is his lips, so close to my own.

"Maybe I ought to just show you."

"Show me?" I blink twice, confused. I am lost in a completely different world—one that consists solitarily of red and gold, sunshine and petrichor. I close my eyes, and I smile, and our lips meet so softly that at first I think I've imagined it. But—no, this is happening, because the scent of sandalwood is stronger than ever and I think my bones are melting. Luckily I can feel his hands snaking around my waist and—

This is Sasori.

This is my Danna. I am _kissing_ my _Danna_.

Abruptly, I pull away from the embrace. The warmth that had enveloped me immediately begins to dissipate. My eyes are wide, I'm sure, and my hand has moved to cover my mouth—whether out of embarrassment or defiance I am not sure.

"Danna, why would you do something so stupid?" I mumble against my palm. "You're just going to poison yourself. That's all I am, un: poison."

I'm not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that which I received. A deep chuckle reverberates in the foliage and I stare at the redhead as if he's gone utterly mad.

"Deidara. I am the master of poisons; I think I know a lethal substance when I see one. You, Brat, are definitely not poison. At least, not the lethal kind."

For the moment I forget my hesitancy and take no time in retorting. "Hey! As an S-rank missing-nin, I resent that."

However, all this does is draw out another of those sexy, mirthful laughs of his.

Who knew a puppet could possess such lovely laughter?

When, once again, I feel hands upon my waist I give in. I figure there is no use fighting it, because deep down my heart wants one thing.

My arms snake around the other man's neck without a second thought and soon we are stealing each other's breath once more.

It lasts for seconds, although it feels even less than that. I yearn to be close like this for the rest of my fleeting existence.

"You know, Deidara…"

"Hmm?" I inquire softly, as my face is busy nuzzling into the crook of his surprisingly soft neck.

"I'm really going to miss your hair." As if to emphasize this point, he slowly runs his nimble fingers through the remaining strands.

"Just my hair, un?" I snicker at the thought. I never would have guessed that Sasori was actually so attached to it.

"Well, that's all I'll get the chance to miss." He leans closer and nips at my ear lobe, his hot breath making me shiver with his next words. "Right, Brat?"

In an attempt to hide the heat creeping up my neckline, I press my ear against his clothed chest and listen contentedly to the steady thrumming of his heart container.

"I'm not going anywhere, Danna. Not now."

Maybe I'd imagined it, but I'd swear his arms wound just a bit more securely around me.

"Good. Because I hope you know that regardless of the crooked paths you choose I will follow you."

I smiled more brightly than I had in years, and could feel Sasori doing the same against my damp hair.

And suddenly my heart didn't feel quite so empty anymore.


End file.
